Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Zac
Walking into the room, I stop dead. There’s something heavy and tense lingering in the air.
Bridget’s biting her nails, Anna’s hands are covering her mouth, Kieran’s eyes are fixed on the table, and Jordan…
Jordan looks lost. Papers are scattered everywhere, dirty mugs and half eaten food strewn across the table.
“What is it?” I ask, voice cutting through the silence. Bridget jumps, muttering a curse and glaring at me. I frown. “Is it Claudia? She okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, man,” Jordan says quickly. “She’s okay. Just at work.”
I exhale, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask.
“Where the hell have you been for the past twenty-four hours?” Anna replies sharply.
“Did you also ask Jordan that when he showed up?” Bridget shoots back. If Anna’s glare could kill, Bridget would be a pile of ash.
“I just wanted to check in,” I say, ignoring their bickering and turning to Jordan. “What have we got?” I step closer to the table.
Kieran’s voice is low when he answers. “Another disappearance.”
The word another lands harder than it should, weighing down heavy and familiar, my chest tightening at the words. My gut twists as I reach for the photo of the brunette girl, her hair neat, smile polite. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her. Maybe I’ve seen her in passing. Maybe not.
“When?” I ask, voice slightly hoarse.
“She didn’t return to the girls’ house last night,” Bridget explains. “Anna went to work today and managed to swipe a copy of this from Germain’s desk.” She holds up a file before sliding it across the table.
“You stole from Germain?” I lift my gaze to Anna, brows raised. Damn, she has more balls than I give her credit for.
“I used the copier,” she says flatly. “Think I covered my tracks.”
“That was fucking risky.”
She smiles, but it’s faint, almost forced. “I know.”
I flip the file open, scanning the page. “Briony Travis?” I read aloud.
“Twenty-one years old, unmarried,” Bridget points out. “No criminal record.”
“She didn’t commit a crime?” I say, glancing up at her.
Bridget shakes her head. “Nothing. Not even a warning.”
People disappear all the time—my sister being one of the first—but there’s always something. Some petty crime they’d committed before it happened, and we made a vow between us to find out what happened to each and every one of them.
But this? This is different.
“Look at the next page,” Bridget says quietly.
I turn it, eyes roaming the factsheet of the girl: height, weight, family history. Bold, red words are stamped diagonally across the middle of the page.
My blood turns to ice.
Shit.
“Threat eliminated?” I read aloud, voice rough. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Jordan looks up, regret etched deep into his features. “It means,” he says softly, “that I’m not sure we’re ever going to find your sister. Or any of them, for that matter.”
For a second, no one breathes. They’re watching me, holding their breath and bracing themselves. Waiting for shit to hit the fan. Anna flinches as I drop the file and it hits the table with a loud slap.
“I… I need air,” I mutter, stumbling back.
I don’t wait for any of them to respond. I just turn, heading through the kitchen, and back into the night. Cold air hits my face, and I brace a hand against the wall, bowing my head, chest heaving.
Fuck.
I don’t fucking believe it. I’ve always known there was a chance she was dead. That they killed her for trespassing on State property after hours. But I never truly believed it. Not until now.
I remember that night; how Gia ran into Brook House, way past midnight, tearing her way to my room. I woke to her clutching at my top, eyes wide, crying hysterically—enough to wake Jordan in the bed opposite.
She’d been caught in the strawberry fields, picking fruit with a boy. The Enforcers had chased them through the fields, through the woods, torches in hand. She thought she’d lost them but couldn’t be certain.
It took Jordan and I an hour before her fingers had loosened from my top and she finally calmed down.
We walked her back to Grafton House, and I promised that I’d check on her the next day.
That I’d make sure she was safe. That we’d figure out a way to make sure they never knew it was her they’d been chasing.
That was the last time I ever saw her.
Now all I can think about is how I failed her. How I promised I’d help, vowed to protect her… and then fucking failed.
What’s the point in any of this? Picking apart the State, trying to exploit their weaknesses, fighting back. Pretending I’m doing something worthwhile when the one person I wanted to save is already gone.
My throat burns and my hands shake as I press them flat against the wall, fighting the urge to punch the brick.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’ll never see her again. Never be able to apologise for letting her down.
Footsteps shuffle behind me. “Zac?” Jordan greets cautiously. I don’t look at him. I can’t.
His gaze bores into the side of my face.
“I’m done, Jordan,” I say, finally, the words cracking. “I’m so fucking done with this shit.”
He doesn’t answer—he doesn’t have to—just leans against the wall beside me, hands shoved into his pockets as he stares up at the starry sky.
He knows, more than anyone, that it’s exactly what I need.